


Vanished before dawn

by thornbushturnedwhite



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornbushturnedwhite/pseuds/thornbushturnedwhite
Summary: The time has passed, Bella grew old. She never learned the secret of the mysterious boy, who saved her life from a terrible accident, because not long after he disappeared. Edward kept his word and moved far away and has never tried to contact Bella. One day, on the anniversary of her dad’s death, Bella meets a strangely familiar-looking young man. Later, she receives a letter with disturbing information that puts her in a desperate situation. The truth, she was unconsciously searching for was revealed, but what is next?
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I need to mention that English is not my first language and I'm still struggling with punctuation, as evident in the piece below. It is also my first complete(?) work in English, so feel free to point my mistakes. Opinions are welcomed.

This night I had a peculiar dream. I was standing in a bright shaft of sunlight in a beautiful meadow that looked at me with its blooming flowers. Everything around me felt alive and buzzing. I could see every leaf line so clearly. When I looked down at my hands, they were soft and creamy pink. I was young again. With my back, I could feel somebody standing behind me. I turned around and was blinded. Literally, because the sunbeams were shattering off this person’s skin into a thousand rainbow shards like he was made of crystal or diamond. When he came closer, I saw his face and it stunned me with the perfection of its features. His pale, alabaster-like skin added to the resemblance of a Greek God statue coming to life. His face was so painfully familiar, but I couldn’t remember at what museum I’ve seen him before. He took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Caressing my fingers, he whispered to them “I’m so sorry… It all went wrong”. This phrase popped up and ruined this beautiful dream, like an annoying spam ad in the tab of my mind. “It all went wrong”. It sounded like an omen of something terrible, pressed on my chest with inexplicable force, made me jerk up on my bed, and gasp hungrily for air. My first dream in 6 months. I don’t sleep well anymore and don’t remember my dreams. It amazed me how detailed and bright this dream was, and its strange effect on my entire body. Have I been sleeping on my left side again?

I’m 71 and not that I find myself that old, I have just forgotten how to experience things in color. A small piece of memory of my younger-self reminds me how delicious and potent air can be. Now it’s mild and heavy in my chest. Not this exciting and intriguing heaviness you feel stepping into something new, young, and free. Every vein is ringing, feels like your blood sings. But rather this spiky ball rolling down your windpipe, spreading ache so severe you’d cry if you could move. Not that I’ve been exceptionally athletic as a teenage girl, but I would run on my clumsy fawn feet to feel the breeze in my hair, run my hands in the wet grass when I fall. Look at the sky, see the clouds move and feel forces of the universe moving me with them.  
Yet all of these buried senses seem to be awakening in me. The first thought is of course of a demise. “Has my time came to an end?”  
My life wasn’t that bad. I worked as a teacher for 45 years. I helped so many kids in pursuing their passion for reading and writing. I think I turned out fine, even though I wouldn’t call my life very exciting. I still live in my dad’s old house. Strange place. I hated it the first time I stepped on its grounds, but then it changed my perception. It changed something in me to the point of no return and I didn’t know what to do with that. I don’t know till this day, because every time I try to leave, I come back.

I think life with Charlie changed me. When I was 17, I moved with my father and here, I, for the first time in many years, felt cared for. I moved to let my mother be the free, unapologetically happy middle-aged-teenager she was.

Despite my overall good life, I always felt like something a long time ago snapped like a rail and put my life on a different track. I felt like I was missing something significant, but I couldn’t tell what exactly. Maybe it’s my age, brain fog, inability to remember what I ate for breakfast.  
I looked at the plant on the top of the closet, its dry, yellow leaves pathetically resonated with me. They’re never going to be green again because my aching back won’t let me water them. So is my life. My frail aging corpse would never be young and flexible again.  
I needed to get out of bed. Looking at the calendar, I saw that it’s February 9th, the day Charlie died. I used to visit his grave every year except for the last 5 years. I couldn’t get out of my small routine: house-pharmacy-grocery store-house.

The voice inside of my head reminded me that it might be the last chance to visit my father’s grave on the anniversary. I threw my blanket and quilt away and stood on my feet. Some unknown force continued giving me strength and pushing me outside. I brushed my hair, my pride, grey but still long and heavy. I avoid looking in the mirror because for the last 20 years I see in it the face I do not recognize. It makes me want to cry or maybe scream, but nothing comes out, so I just blankly stare until my vision blurs and I can’t see the face at all.

9 am on the clock. Nowhere to hurry. I’ve decided to put my emerged energy to good use: making my bed, sweeping, and vacuuming lumps and strings of dust around the house. I looked at the plant on the top of the closet again. Clenching my back, I moved an old wooden chair right in front of the closet, stood on it, and reached out for my pitiful, once green, friend. I cooed over it, watered, and sprayed it, whispering with tears in my eyes “My poor old friend, how could I be so unfair to you”. I kissed its leaf goodbye before I stepped outside.

The weather was gloomy as usual at this time of year in The Olympic Peninsula. Light fog, the rain just stopped trying to wash off the rest of the snow that was left by this year’s extremely warm winter. I looked around, the sight of my neglected yard caused a strike of shameful pain in my chest. My poor truck, no one will know your vintage red glory, now you are a rusty carcass of a once slow but reliable partner. I stopped driving it 50 years ago. On my 25th birthday, no matter how my dear friend Jacob tried to save it, its engine heart stopped and forever remained silent, an unmovable piece of memory and accessory, no matter how much Charlie protested. Oh, Jacob, dearest Jacob. How I miss him sometimes, how happy I am when his family has time to visit little old me. How glad I am to be gifting books to his wonderful kids, listening to his youngest daughter telling me about what characters she liked best. They are all living happily in reservation on the coast. Not even years can take away his zest for life, the greatest smile in the universe, and long dark hair, even though few silver strips interrupted their perfect raven flow.

I was standing there in front of my truck, trying to recollect all the warm, good memories. I don’t drive anymore. I bought a car when I was still young to drive to work, but around 15 years ago I sold it and moved to public transport. Efficient and safe.

A blue bus slowly drove me past the town I’ve spent my whole life in. Houses of my friends, of families I don’t know that well, rare grocery stores, that have been scared away by huge malls, former “Newton's Olympic Outfitters” that is now sold, as Mike ran to Los Angeles, following his dream of becoming an actor. He left his legacy to be sold, to become yet another coffee shop. So many memories and all they bring me back to school and exactly to the time when I meet the most memorable people in my life. I flushed with embarrassment like a teenager again. How stupid to be still thinking about that. I’ve spent the whole ride trying to suppress the face that’s been popping out in my mind at least once a day. The face I saw in my last night’s dream. In the comfort of my own house, thinking about him was not as embarrassing as on public transport, where I felt like everybody could read my face or my thoughts. How ridiculous, to not only think about a boy-crush that happened more than 50 years ago but being paranoid enough to believe mind-reading to be real.

It took me longer to get out of the bus as I was trying to calm myself down and stop the stream of hot flushes of my suddenly awoken teenage conscience. But walk in a cemetery humbles you in every possible way. I contemplated death, whether I am scared of it or not, still the answer was the same as yesterday - I wasn’t. I am not sure I believe in heaven, but I would like to hope to meet my mother and father there since last years were incredibly lonely.  
I have never met my soulmate, so I majorly lived alone, occasionally going on a couple of set-up dates. I know it probably sounds ridiculous coming from a “granny”, but the older I grew, the more I believed in magical explanations of life. I believe in soulmates and I believe that I have never met mine, or probably let them go. Do not know what is more depressing. When I was 23, I thought that maybe Jacob was my soulmate, with him I felt like I could have spent every day and not for once want to separate. But soon, I’ve realized that our bond is much stronger than just romantic. We were family, but a platonic one, brother-sister “BFFs”, who used to fight as kids, but grew inseparably close overtime.  
Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong for never trying to push against my reasons and officiate some fling, just to disprove the soulmate theory, but I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.

The first thing I’ve noticed, that there were fresh flowers on Charlie’s grave. Who could have left them? I’ve started going through all his friends that stayed alive and in Forks when my attention switched to the figure standing in approximately 10 yards. Something struck me so familiar in that figure. Seeing the pale hands, hang limb against the dark-grey coat, strangely send shivers down my spine and I’ve hastily raised my eyes to look at their owners' face. Striking features, barely recognizable from the distance, but old age granted me with far-sightedness that allowed me to look straight in the bewildered eyes of the mystery man – the man from my dream. Edward. Few seconds lasted, at the same time forever and not enough, he turned around and walked fast in the direction away from me. Something started to unravel inside of my brain, tiny hammers started clicking rapidly. The shock prevented me from coming up with a perfect explanation for my feelings fast, so I just stood there for at least 10 minutes trying to collect myself. I dreamed of meeting him every day, but the possibility seemed to fade away with each year.


	2. Chapter 2

*

\- Please, Alice, stop…

-I cannot stop my visions the way you cannot stop being nosy and eavesdropping on my _private_ thoughts!

Edward took a deep breath and grabbed his head with both his hands trying to hide from the reality of this situation. He has been hiding for 54 years and even managed to convince himself that it was working. He has been pushing himself so far from the truth all these years, but now his fears seemed to materialize and started to haunt him, following him, breathing on his shoulder, whispering “You fool”.

\- Bella’s time has come to an end, she is a human and there is nothing we can do now, – Alice stated with an accusatory tone, but when she saw that it pains him, she softened a bit, came closer, and rubbed his back, trying to comfort her brother somehow. “ _There are not enough backrubs in the world to console this poor and stupid creature”_ , she thought.

\- I’m so sorry, but Edward, you’ve made your decision a long time ago.

She sighed when he didn’t answer and didn’t move.

-I know you probably don’t want to know this, but she's always wondered about you. That _accident_ puzzled her a great deal, actually. I would keep my tabs on her and I saw every time she tried to google our family… – she stretched her hands out in defense when Edward raised his glare at her – She never would have caught me … and I am like you, as much interested in her!

The plan that has been living with him for what seems like forever, that has been constantly changing, wanting to be left forgotten, at that moment only waited for the final step - implementation.

-I think it’s the only right way, Edward. All her life she spent thinking about you, searching for the truth. She deserves to know.

*

I don’t quite recall how I managed to return home. I don’t remember getting on a bus, paying for the ticket, getting off. It felt like my conscience only came back to me with the sight of the correspondence peaking from my mailbox. It was past 7 pm, at this time no one delivers mail and I remember checking the box before leaving. I took the envelope. Perfect calligraphic letters boar my name - “ _BELLA_ ”. It felt like an electric current was running from this envelope through my entire body. I was scared to hold it, the letter burned my skin. I hurried inside.

“Dear Bella,

I did not dare to dream that you would still remember me after all those years, but my sister Alice gave me a reason and a hope to believe that my name is still being remembered by you occasionally. I’ve spent my whole life, if I can call my tormented existence “life”, hiding, hoping, that no matter how much I suffer, my sufferings will provide me with a confirmation that YOU are safe and happy. Your happiness moves me now as I write.

I must tell you how much I loathe the subject of this letter, which is _the truth,_ but so wretched and heartbreaking, that it pains me to subject you to this suffering. Yet, the circumstances demand from me honesty and courage at last.

It has come to my knowledge, that you still wish to know the truth about what really happened 54 years ago. Well, your wish is my command. But firstly, I would like to apologize for my Irish exit almost half a century ago. The motive behind it was pure, but it was still quite rude. The reason for both my enormous strength, with which I managed to pull your body from under the van (action, I’m sure, your observant eyes couldn’t miss) and my terrible manners, is that I am a monster. This century provides you with all types of media dissecting the creatures of the night and their terrible fates and lifestyles, so maybe it will help you in digesting this absurdity. I am a vampire, Dracula, Nosferatu, etc. A creature not deserving human company. In fact, each member of my family is of this kind. I needed to note that, as I am convinced, you have already guessed that something unnatural and dark connects us all. Hint to our similar appearance: alabaster skin, golden eyes, that sometimes turn black, or even worse - red.

You probably ask, why have I decided to tell you my secret now? Well, as I said earlier, I tried to keep it to myself. I really thought that it was the only right way. My sister Alice, not only possess my "gifts" of supernatural strength and speed but is also, what people would call, a psychic. And I’m “lucky” enough to be able to read other creatures' minds. But do not worry, your mind is impenetrable to me, not sure if it does us any favor or not. All those years I have been trying to ignore Alice’s “visions”, coming back from my “solitary confinement” to be with my family. I have to admit that the knowledge of your teaching triumphs and safe, cozy evenings were tempting to dig into for details, but I could not allow it, for it would be too dangerous. You see, vampires exist and it is common knowledge that they feast on human blood. Unfortunate for you, your blood is simply too, to put it mildly, alluring. I will not proceed with gruesome details, as it is not my intention to scare you.

I truly believe that the only thing I did right was disappearing. I prayed that keeping away from you and giving you a chance at life, somehow can excuse my damned existence. But you’re not the only one who's been curious. I constantly puzzled myself with questions like “What you’ve thought of me? Were you repulsed? Scared? Does the memory of me ever crosses your mind?”. I desired to know everything about you... Ugh, I, I, I!!! What you must think of this! Like I am confessing to you my sins on my deathbed! ~~Well, in a way….~~

The first part of this letter is terrible truth and rumbles, yet it needed to be this way. In the next part, I will try to open my heart and do what I would have done ages ago, if we weren't characters from a horror story. I carried on with this letter to simply remind you that you have always been loved. I know how terribly lonely you must have felt after Charlie’s passing, so it is my duty to remind you how precious and deserving of love you are. Let the love come from a wretch like me, but let it come, let it enter your heart, let it always remind you of who you are. Intelligent, caring, brave, selfless, extraordinary Bella.

I sincerely hope that you can put your past at rest now and enjoy your golden years, remembering that you are not alone and you are loved. You will always be loved.

Edward.”

I could barely finish the last sentence as tears foully stood in my eyes. It was pure madness, it was absolutely wrong, it was … the truth. I believed every word and it hurt me immensely. With a heavy head and a heavier heart, I slid down on my bed. I wanted to lay down. I wanted to rest forever. Memories started to whirl around me: the first sight of Forks, distinguishing his face out of everyone in the high school cafeteria, his glare during our first class together, an attempt at being friendly, change of the eye color, hostility again, his horror-struck face in the sea of other faces, the screeching van rushing at me…

***

The next morning, the nurse, assigned to keep an eye on a lonely elderly woman knocked on her door for a regular visit, but nobody answered. She called for the authorities to access the house and when she stepped inside, there was no one there.

“Could she be at her friends or relatives?” the man, who busted the door open, asked.

“No… I am not sure she has anybody to stay over at. And she would have notified. Miss Swan is a very responsible lady” shrugged the nurse. Her confused stare moved to the window that’s been wide open. She saw that the curtains were folded to the street side from the sudden blow of air that an open door brings.

Through the same window, Isabella Marie Swan was gently carried away in the night. Her body was lovingly put at rest, next to her father's grave. The stranger performing the ceremony vanished before dawn.


End file.
